


Lives Worth Living

by Gelatichthyes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Childhood, M/M, Snapshots, Vignette, briefly, i had much motivation, joining the team, so this is what i got, then none
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 02:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7557349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelatichthyes/pseuds/Gelatichthyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little vignettes following Junkrat and Roadhog's lives (mostly Junkrat, sorry) from when Australia became irradiated to present day. Also featuring terrible attempts at Australian slang, hopefully almost poetic imagery, and a lot of words that autocorrect told me were spelled wrong (such as omnic).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> I had these really vivid images in my head of different times throughout Junkrat's life so I attempted to write them all down and interweave accompanying Roadhog parts before they were all gone. I was really fascinated by their age difference and thus the differing outlooks they would have on life and ways they would have to survive.
> 
> Each (probably pretty short) chapter is going to be a different time, though they will progress chronologically (just with gaps). I'll probably post their ages in the authors note because I like to ramble and fill up space.
> 
> This first one takes place a year after the Australian Liberation Front (ALF) ended up destroying the Outback so Jamie is 8 and Mako is 31.

Jamie scampered up a pile of metal, dodging traps and tripwires when he saw them. The pile was composed from mostly bits of old machinery and omnics and held together with the glue of melted plastic and rotted corpses of small animals. It was easy to get an ankle caught in a hole or step in one of the many traps set up by nearby junkers. Just cuz this here was Junkertown didn’t mean it was safe, just that junkers don’t try to actively pick fights and can have more permanent homes.

Jamie had heard from his mum that the Outback didn’t always look like this and that Junkertown used ta be a right nice place- even when he was a baby it was apparently different. Eh. All he remembers is the ground shook one day and then everyone got sad and sick. Mountains of junk and trash were pushed into piles for disposal as towns emptied out and things abandoned and people tried to clean up but then everyone gave up.

Now everyone just spent their days scavenging for pieces and parts, trying to scrape together a living. Some people form gangs but Jamie and his mum do it all on their own- gangs get messy and dangerous so says his mum. Plus they don’t have much of a bearing here cuz of truces and stuff but nothings perfect. People still set traps to protect scrap heaps they claim as their own.

Mum says a lot of things though, not that she actually does much… It’s mostly up to Jamie to scavenge things. She’s too sad and coughs a lot. If he’s lucky Jamie can usually catch a rat or something and she’ll cook it up for dinner real crispy so they don’t get sicker and she’ll tell him stories of the Omnic Crisis (he was too young to remember it and even though it technically ended soon after he turned five, the tensions in Australia never went away). According to his mum they were kicked outta their homes a while back and then people got mad and that’s when his dad left and then the world went to hell. And it’s been like this for about two years, but it don’t seem too bad to him. Life’s life, roight? As long as you have something to gnaw on and your hair hasn’t fallen out yet, it’s all good!

Jamie cast a gaze over the pile, the sun glinting off a shard of something. He hoped it was a mirror. His mum always talks about how she wants to be able to look at herself, to keep some form of “civilized behavior” around. Keeping his gaze locked on the shard of possibly-mirror, he foolishly clambered forwards, realizing his mistake when he felt his leg brush against a taunt wire.

Jamie made one last ditch effort to get the maybe-mirror, lunging towards it with all the might in his scrawny, underfed body before everything went white.

…

“…This your ankle biter? I was told he lived here.” The large enforcer shouldered his way past the chunk of corrugated tin leaning against a gap, functioning as a door to the rundown shack.

The inhabitant of the shack was a dirty but pale freckled woman with too-thin wrists, prominent cheekbones, and a thin tangled mop of blonde hair who turned at the intrusion. She paused in her tinkering to slowly lift her eyes from the man’s heavy boots to his unhooked overalls to the child in his arms. “Jamie?”

The man took a step forward and set the boy down before grunting at her, “Got caught in a gang’s trap. They’re gone now. ‘Is leg is gone too.”

The woman’s lip trembled as she brushed some matted blond hair from Jamie’s face then turned her gaze towards his leg. Or rather, the bandaged stump of his right leg. From mid-thigh down, it was completely missing, and some burns extended above the bandages. “My poor Jamie…” She turned her face towards the man who brought her child back, “Would you like some soup? As a thank you?”

The man grunted and then plopped down on the floor, accepting a dented bowl that she ladled full of soup and handed to him. “You sick?”

The woman, who had been rummaging around the scattered piles of junk paused in her efforts to run a hand through her hair self-consciously, shaking the strands that came out off her hand before nodding, “The same as most people.”

The man grunted, slurping at his soup.

The woman finally pulled out a dirty wad of bandages, speaking absent mindedly, either to herself or man, neither knew, as she started to wrap up her son’s bloodied stump of a leg. “He doesn’t even really remember when the land and air was clean and when civilization still existed. Sometimes I wish he would fall ill too. At least then he wouldn’t grow up in this world. It’s only thanks to people like you that I have any goddamn faith in humanity.”

The man set down his empty bowl and stood up, “We aren’t as good as you wish we were. Hope he lives.” And with that, the large enforcer with the pig tattoo left the hovel, roaring off on a huge bike leaving nothing but a cloud of dust in his wake.


	2. Autonomy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At 17 and 40, both Jamie and Mako have had to adapt to life in the irradiated Outback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot I had to chapter summaries too. I'm so sorry for shitty summaries and tiny chapters. What can I say? I tried.

Jamie tugged off his mechanical leg; the stump it was attached to enjoyed the breath of fresh air. Leaning forward on his workbench, he inspected it carefully, clearing the gears of gunked up dirt and clotted oil and especially slivers of metal that could jam up the whole fucking thing. His mum made him this when he was stupid enough to get his leg blown off and he’d be damned if he was gonna let it break due to carelessness.

She wasn’t around anymore to fix it after all. Even though he surpassed her skills with machinery a while back it was still a precious memento. It was the only thing he had left of her- he’d been run out of “home” too many times to have kept anything else from before she died. Not that she was much help her last few years (at least he thought it was years. Time wasn’t kept real well out here). Her illness got worse and worse until she finally died when he was (maybe) about 14.

Now he was pretty sure he was 17, great with mechanics and especially explosives, and a pro at surviving on his own. No longer the naïve scrawny ankle biter who walked into traps no siree- now he was a skinny (but muscled!) man who loved to rig up his own traps and mess with explosives both for protection and just for fun.

Jamie let out a string of giggles and he tightened a couple screws on his leg. Once he got all this fixed up he would be able to focus on his concussion mines. He almost had it perfected but just needed to tweak a couple things and then try it out again.

…

Mako stared at his warped reflection in the back of a dirty spoon, angling it to try and get a semi-decent look. It wasn’t pretty. Working to try and keep some hope going had taken its toll, not that he was necessarily handsome before. Not before the irradiation of Australia, not before the Australian Liberation Front, not before the Omnic Crisis, not even before the fuckers were first manufactured.

Damn he was old. By his count, he was 40. And 11 of those years had been riding around the Outback, quelling squabbles between Junkers, chasing off gangs who got too rough, and eradicating any omnics he came across. Occasionally he would run across teams of medics, doing their best to help the mostly nomadic junkers, but the medics were infrequent enough that they didn’t provide much more beyond a false hope. No, providing hope was left up to the enforcers, although at this point they seemed to inspire more fear than hope.

However when everyone involved is touched with sickness of the body and mind, fear is sometimes the only thing to keep bloodlust down and rampages under control.

Mako grimaced and tossed the spoon away from him, instead grabbing his worn paperback of a poetry collection. He didn’t always get much time to read anymore but it was one small comfort left over from his previous life.

He had some time before he would start his rounds again, roaming from outpost to outpost, keeping peace at neutral areas like general stores or bars. It didn’t always work but when the rest of the Outback was a free for all, you had to keep even the smallest pool of civilization going.

…

A sudden explosion at the outpost’s motel caused the surrounding buildings to creak and shudder. It was easy to tell the different types of inhabitants from their reactions to the event- junkers who stayed relatively put were more relaxed in general, less on edge; they were mostly surprised and somewhat resigned. Explosions didn’t generally occur in town- it was supposed to be neutral ground but as always, things happened.

Roaming junkers and gangs tensed up before realizing it had nothing to do with them, and then went about their business as usual, bartering and trading scraps and built objects for water and rations.

If there were any enforcers in town they would hop on a bike and roar towards the scene, hoping there was fight to get their blood pumping. While there weren’t any actually in town, it just so happened that there was one particular enforcer who was shacked up just outside the town limits. At the sound of the explosion this enforcer frowned, somewhat irritated, dog-earred his poetry book, strapped on his black leather mask, and hopped on his massive bike to investigate.

In this particular outpost, a small team of medics led by a woman with radiant golden wings ended their cheery conversation to rush off to the scene. Frontline crises are what they trained for and what they excelled at, despite the ease of just handing out nutrition packets and water purifiers.

…

A good chunk of the motel had been blown off from the explosion and then a good half of it had collapsed, unable to support the weight with a chunk of its structure missing.

Scattered boards and twisted metal littered the streets, thin trails of smoke curling off them as small fires caught and began to burn.

By the time Roadhog the enforcer had arrived, medics were already scrambling through the wreckage, pulling out boarders here and there. The majority of the injured weren’t too bad off, mostly dazed, ears ringing, many with gashes and scrapes, a few with broken bones. The enforcer’s presence spooked off any onlookers (read: scavengers) as he took in the scene. It appears to just be an accident, probably caused by some maniac either testing out a trap or setting one off.

Most likely the former, Roadhog mused, watching as the head medic in a Valkyrie suit called for reinforcements. Noting that most of her team was already occupied, Roadhog made his way over to aid. The head medic was at the section of the wreckage that was the worst- ground zero for the explosion.

A body was trapped under the wreckage, badly mangled. The angelic woman was unable to move the heavy weight trapping her patient. Roadhog grunted a greeting at her before gripping a charred pillar and shove it out the way, tossing wreckage here and there.

Apparently this here was a demolitions freak who got caught in his own explosion, that then set off a chain reaction from the shitload of explosives stored in his room, if the sheer amount of shrapnel was anything to go by.

“Thank you, ah, Roadhog was it? I have seen you around. I am Mercy, head of the frontline crisis medical units.” The young doctor brushed her blond hair out her face before taking in her patient.

It was a kid, probably not even twenty, his right side a gory mess of flesh and blood and bone. His arm was blown to bits, somehow still attached, but just barely. The kid was no stranger to missing limbs however, since the stump of his leg looked healed, as if it had departed long ago.

“…hog. Roadhog. I need your assistance.” The large enforcer pulled his gaze away from unconscious kid, looking back at Mercy, who was already working to swab the gore off the kid’s skin, “His arm has to go, but I do not have a bone saw on me. This is not an ideal situation, but when it is ever? I will hold him steady and you will cut just below his elbow. Ready?”

Roadhog nodded, pulling out a machete and moving closer to the kid. On the count of three he made a sharp downwards strike, severing the mangled hand and forearm from the not-okay but salvageable upper arm.

Mercy moved instantly next to Roadhog, gently nudging him out her way as she sprayed the clean cut with nanites and began to bandage it, despite the nanites already beginning to staunch the bleeding and flesh beginning to regrow on the edges.

As she swabbed the gore and shrapnel off the rest of the kid she revealed pale skin, most likely unburnt thanks to the thick layer of soot that had covered him, speckled in freckles and moles and a fine dusting of pale hair.

Mercy continued to apply adhesive gauze pads here and there, saving the use of nanites for the worst wounds until soon enough the kid was relatively clean and all patched up. She then pulled out a different canister and sprayed its contents into the kid’s mouth.

A moment later he coughed and his eyes fluttered before opening, seemingly blinded by the radiance of the golden woman leaning over him.

“Smile, ah…”

“Fawkes,” the kid coughed out, attempting to sit up, “Jamison Fawkes. But call me Junkrat.”

Mercy gently pushed him back down, firmly not allowing him to move yet, “Well then, Junkrat, smile then. We almost lost you there but you’ll make it now. Try to be more careful in the future. I’m not a miracle worker. Well, not always.” Turning to look up at Roadhog, Mercy smiled gratefully, “Thank you, Roadhog. You enforcers are good people. Do not forget that. I can take it from here now.”

Roadhog nodded slowly at the clear dismissal. As he turned to go, his eyes locked briefly with the kid’s. Why did he seem so familiar?

The large man broke the locked gaze and returned to his bike. Jamison Fawkes. Junkrat. He would remember that name.


	3. Emergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn of a new partnership

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat is 23, Roadhog is 46. In case anyone cares about the timeline progression.

Jamie grinned, staring at a certain something he had just uncovered. Treasure! He doubled over cackling until he suddenly stood up, eyes darting around suspiciously. If anyone knew he had this… Jamie hurriedly stuffed it into his bag and kicked some junk around to cover his tracks before sneaking off (read: limping away crowing loudly). He would have to find someway to store it safely… He couldn’t keep it on his person after all.

It’s been 23 years and he’s finally made it big in life. N-not that anyone can ever know! Though… maybe as long as he never specified what it was a little bragging never hurt anyone… roight?

…

Well shit. He was in some deep shit. He never really was any good at keeping his mouth shut and well rumors spread. Jamie’s been on the run for almost a year (although it feel like a lot longer). Every damn time he turns around he has to launch yet another grenade or ten and he doesn’t even have time to set up any mines! And he worked so hard perfecting those! It cost him an arm to perfect them- literally!

He heard the faint click and whirr of a trigger being pulled by a mechanical finger and then a barrage of bullets hit the ground nearby him. “Oi wankers learn to aim better!”

Jamie placed a concussion mine beneath him to use as a spring pad and heaved his frag launcher up to lob some grenades at the now very scared men atop the rooftop. “Kaboom!!!” He crowed gleefully as he released half a dozen of bounching grenades onto the rooftop, causing some of the men to dive off the roof, others to try and stick it out, only to get blown to bits.

“Oh bugger.” He calmly stated as he landed, shock waves traveling up his legs. The fire from his grenades had caught some petrol tanks the gang was guarding, and then the whole world tilted and roared as they blew.

…

Mako rumbled down the road, avoiding the large chunks missing from the pavement and pulls behind a not-so-abandoned petrol station. It was the base for a gang that recently had become exceptionally aggressive and so Mako was checking it for two reasons.

One- he could say he was doing it for the protection of the junkers who lived around here but everyone knows that after 16 years people can protect themselves. Those who couldn’t aren’t exactly around anymore, and so enforcers had become mostly obsolete. The second reason was the real reason- he was itching for a good fight. Most ran when he approached but an aggressive gang at their base? They would stand and fight.

He got off his bike and turned the corner at the exact moment to see some cocky, skinny blond ass cackling before suddenly looking somber, right before the whole fucking station blew to hell.

The ground shuddered and the roar from the blast was deafening. Mako was just far enough to have escaped any side effects apart from a faint ringing in his ears and some spots dancing around in his vision.

Well. Might as well see if anyone’s left. If not… some of their supplies might have survived at least.

Mako walked over to the servo, noting that a raging fire consumed it. No supplies for him, and anyone left inside was a goner. Out front, near where the pumps still stood, was a bloodied man on the ground and aw fuck it’s that kid. Garbagehamster.

The kid was flat on his back, a mechanical arm twitching faintly, gears sounds stuck. By his right leg: a mess of metal and wood, a shattered replacement limb from the looks of it. The blast certainly had felt strong.

The kid blearily opened his eyes a crack, his breathing labored and wet, as if holding back tears, peering up at the massive man looming over him.

Mako grumbled a question at the kid, his mask obscuring his words. As predicted, Garbagehamster furrowed his brow in confusion. Sighing heavily, Mako loosened a couple straps, repeating his question, “Got anything worth having?”

The kid still looked confused, shaking his head and struggling to a sitting position before pointing at his ears.

“Oh.” Glancing behind him at the fire, Mako wondered how long before the kid’s hearing came back. Part of him just wanted to leave, part of him wondered why this skinny asshole took on the whole gang by himself, and a small part of him wanted to know what the kid had been up to. He had helped save his life after all, possibly twice.

It had clicked a couple years ago that this was the same ankle biter he had returned to his mother. Now he had run into him for the third time and he had to wonder why. Or maybe he really needed to stop picking up poetry books at every opportunity.

“Oi you’re that Roadhog, roight? The once do-gooder enforcer turned ruthless killer?”

Roadhog let out a low growl, glaring down at Garbagemouse whose hearing had apparently returned.

“Roight, roight, no insults,” the kid held up his hand in a placating manner, “I’m Junkrat. And I’ve got a deal for you.”

Roadhog gazed at Garbage- no, Junkrat, interestedly. He had heard rumors of a junker who had made out with some great treasure and thus had gotten himself into some deep shit.

“You’ve heard ‘bout me treasure, roight? I’ll split it 50/50 if you guard me. I need to sleep sometimes and as you can see,” Junkrat let loose a short string of giggles, “When me mech gets damaged I can’t do much to defend myself. ‘Specially since the blast jammed me frag launcher too.”

Roadhog grunted, “Deal.”

“Now picka me up an’ don’t forget the parts to me leg. I need to repair it. Again.”

Roadhog stared at his client. He had the feeling that he signed up for a lot more than he knew.


	4. Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super super short even for me but it sets up probably the longest next and final chapter. Almost a summary of years 23-25 for Junkrat and 46-48 for Roadhog.

Junkrat and Roadhog kicked it around Australia briefly before realizing nothing could stop them. Thus their infamous international crime spree began, wreaking chaos across nation after nation. They grew closer in a way that only crime could bring two people together, eventually sharing actual names and occasionally even stories of their previous lives.

Together, they were unstoppable and their crimes grew and grew. Mako provided plans and experience (not that Jamie would ever admit it), and Jamie provided the batshit insanity needed to pull them off, as well as being the cheery, excitable one that the world just couldn’t beat down.

Jamie was an irradiated psychotic man-child who taught himself everything he knows and while being a demolitions and mechanics expert, knew next to nothing about the outside world. The first time they went to the coast, Jamie just stood there, staring at the waves, silent for the longest time Mako had ever seen him (including sleep because that kid would mumble and flail in his sleep all night long).

Often they hit up pharmacies to buy cold medicine, allergy pills, painkillers, etc. because Jamie’s immune system was so shot from the wasteland: irradiation, poor nutrition, dirty water and dirty air a healthy child do not make. Plus, being coated in a thick layer of dirt, cultivated over about 17 years doesn’t help. Most of the time, Mako has to make him take the pills because “It’s just the way I am, mate! I don’t need no stinking pills! I ain’t bloody crook!” and Mako remembered life before constant sickness, before irradiated wastelands, before omnics.

In return, Jamie gives Mako a purpose in life, a cheeriness that had been missing since the Displacement oh so long ago. He’s somehow still chatty and bright and finds enjoyment in life. They become closer than friends. They become survivors. And they protect and defend each other. What started out as protection as hired help became genuine protection for this skinny blond asshole who was a product of this fucked up omnic-infested world.

And then one day they got caught.

…

“Put your hands up! Do not touch anything and do not speak.” From behind the police barricade, dozens of guns were pointed at them, both policemen and policeomnics. A couple of bomb squad members skittered out from the barrier and slowly approached the duo.

The omnic bomb squad member approached Roadhog, who seemed faintly disinterested until Junkrat began hissing and shrieking for the omnic to “get the fuck away from me friend!” Roadhog said something but it was so low and so muffled from behind the mask that no but Junkrat seemed to understand, but whatever he said calmed Junkrat down from a frothing boil to a quietly seething simmer.

Before either policeman could handcuff Roadhog or Junkrat, a well-known voice called out to them, “Excuse me, but I believe they would be more useful with me than rotting in solitary.” Every eye turned towards the large gorilla approaching, flanked by a lithe British woman, “So what will it be, Mister Fawkes, Mister Rutledge? A life imprisoned, if the trial goes favorably, or a chance to redeem yourselves while doing what you love? Will you join the new Overwatch team?”


	5. Actuality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vignettes within a vignette. The whole collection of snapshots I wrote about the dynamic duo being on the teamto round it all out.

“Hello there! You are our new teammates, correct? I am Angela Ziegler, also known as Mercy. But I suppose that you already knew that.” Mercy smiled and stuck her hand out towards the junkers, despite the fact that her glove was clean and they were… not.

Roadhog gave her a short curt nod and gently shook her hand, remembering from when she made him help that kid with the blown off limbs. She hadn’t aged a day. Well, she had, but she was just as radiant now as she was at 29. Junkrat, on the other hand, had gone strangely silent, staring at the doctor with wide, starstruck eyes.

Mercy laughed softly behind her hand, “It’s good to see you survived after all that hard work to save you all those years ago. I suspect it won’t be the only time I’ll have to save you however,” Mercy winked at him then clapped her hands suddenly, “Now! Let’s get you two a physical!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Bloody hell Junkrat have you ever taken a shower in your life?”

Junkrat cocked his head to the side and looked at Tracer questioningly, “a wot?”

Tracer folded her arms and set her jaw, “You smell. Terrible. You have to bathe.”

Junkrat furrowed his eyebrows, obviously confused, “I heard ya sheila but I’ve got no idea what ya want.”

Tracer threw her arms up in the air, making a face as her shouldered past Junkrat in the narrow hallway, “I’m finding someone who will make you take a shower.”

…

Junkrat was hunched over a workbench, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, measuring out perfect amounts of gunpowder. The door to his (meaning Roadhog’s) room opened and Roadhog walked in, grunting something at his friend.

“Wot? But I’m in the middle of working!”

Roadhog lifted his mask slightly, “Jamie.”

Jamison leaned back in his chair, far enough to see Mako upside-down, “Fine but I don’t understand why it’s not like I’m going to sleep. Besides this always makes it too difficult to work! So what if they should air out…” Jamison heaved a sigh and straightened up, starting to unscrew his leg and then holding his right arm out for help to remove.

As soon as his mech limbs were removed, he was thrown over his large friend’s shoulder and they headed out the door.

“Oi! Why are we leaving? You know I don’t like to leave without my limbs, Mako, come on don’t do this mate!”

Mako grunted, patted Jamie on the back once and then flung open the door to the bathroom and set him down on the floor next to the tub, “First shower then you can soak.”

“I have no bloody idea what you just said.”

…

“Do you think he drowned? We have not seen him in a very long time… I do not believe he has spent much time with water. He seems very uneasy even after spending so much time out of the Outback…” The chubby woman rubbed her hands together nervously. She didn’t like the Australian but they were teammates and she was willing to keep trying to be at least decent to him, even if he never showed her the same courtesy!

“I’m sure he’s fine, Mei, but I’ll go check on him if you want. I fear the opposite. Who knows what types of explosives he might be rigging up in the loo? That child never learns.” Mercy nodded reassuringly at the slightly younger woman before heading off to the private wing of the base where their quarters and private bathrooms were.

Cautiously, she opened the door and saw… bubbles?

Bubbles were overflowing the tub, sloshing onto the floor, caused by the cheery ruckus in the tub. Mercy blinked, astonished, as she took in said cheery ruckus.

Roadhog was reclining in the tub, his arms propped up on the rims, his mask oddly still on but loose, straps dangling, and yet he had an air of contentment as he watched Junkrat’s antics.

Junkrat was sitting at the opposite end of the tub, his dirty scorched blond hair a surprisingly pale blond when wet, clean, and pressed flat to his head. He cackled as he piled and pushed bubbles around with his left hand. At the sound of the door opening, he turned and saw her, his face breaking out into a maniac’s grin, “Oi Hog look the angel wants to join! There’s plenty a room here!”

Mercy did her best to not smile, putting on her best amused-but-stern mom face, “No, I just wanted to check up and make sure my patient was not about to drown or cause the drains to explode. Or both.” She nodded slightly at Roadhog before slipped back out the door, closing it quietly behind her, hearing Junkrat start up again with a riotous story. He was fine.

 

* * *

        

 “Oi Satya I was thinking-”

Satya made an undignified shriek and threw a block of hard light at the junker who had just burst in on her using the bathroom.

Jamison dodged the blue mass and backed out the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. “Alroight fine I’ll tell ya later, sheila.” What’s the big fuss about anyways?

…

Jamison threw open the door to the bathroom, bursting in on McCree, “Jesse look what I found I thought; I thought that ya could use-”

“Get the hell out of here, boy! It’s occupied!”

“I know, I just wanted to show you-”

McCree roared and gestured angrily at the door, “Out!”

Jamison left, grumbling, “Fine I’ll keep it for myself then.”

…

Mako flipped through a magazine as he sat on the toilet, enjoying the rare moment of peace until the door the opened suddenly and Jamison sauntered in.

“Didja hear that Miss Mercy was gonna start having vegetarian options at every meal? Cuz she noticed you weren’t eating much and then she asked and was all surprised about why we hadn’t spoken up before. Ain’t that nice of her? She’s the best!”

Mako flipped the page in his magazine and grunted.

“Okay yeah I guess I could have waited to tell ya but why wait? You can shit and listen can’t ya?”

He mumbled a response.

Jamison heaved a big sigh, doubling over in mock exhaustion, “Whaddya mean privacy? Never mattered before!”

Mako leveled his gaze at his friend, “Jamie.”

“I mean we’ve used the bathroom and held conversations before, it’s no big deal! Don’t get why everyone gets all worked up.”

“Jamison.”

“Fine fine I promise I won’t walk in on people anymore. Not that it matters but fine.”

 

* * *

 

 

 “So Jamison, how old are ya anyways? I suspect your like most of us, eh? Mid thirties?” McCree glanced up at the junker as he tore his slice of bread in half before dipping it in his soup.

Junkrat started shaking slightly, the occasional high-pitched giggle escaping until he fell apart into a puddle of cackling laughter, his dinner all but forgotten.

Those at the table who hadn’t been paying attention at McCree’s question were now paying their full attention to the deranged junker.

After a minute or two, Junkrat pulled himself together enough to respond, albeit with giggles punctuating every other word, “I’m only 25 years old, mate. Almost every single one of you tossers is older than me!” Junkrat wiped his eyes of tears and looked around the table, confused at why every single one of his teammates save Mercy and Roadhog was looking at him strangely, “Wot? That surprising?”

 

* * *

 

 Jamison flopped over the large shoulder of his friend, staring at the… thing… he was holding. He had been banned from the workshop and training grounds “until further notice,” all because of a couple of bloody incidents. It wasn’t his fault the explosions accidently went off or that bombmaking left soot everywhere! Well… technically it was but this just wasn’t fair!

“Roadie I’m bored. Do something exciting.”

Mako grunted and rolled his shoulder to halfheartedly try and shove off Jamison.

“Oi mate what is that thing you got there? It looks like that one you used to have only cleaner and different.”

Mako sighed and closed the book he was reading, leaving his finger in it to mark his page. “It’s a book, Jamison. Didn’t you learn to read?”

“Book book book… Hmm… I think me mum used to read those to me as a wee ankle biter but then we got displaced ya know? And so we couldn’t take a lot.”

Mako nodded, remembering those days, “But after? There was still civilization during the displacement.”

“Well yeah but me dad fought in the Liberation Front and never came back so me mum and I had to focus on surviving. Never taught me to read and ended up selling the few books we had. Or burning them for fire.”

Mako set his book next to him, forgetting about ever finishing it and picked up a nearby book meant for younger folk. “Would you like to learn?”

Jamie hesitated briefly, thinking, then plopped down on Mako’s lap, “Not like I got anything else to do, roight?”

Mako grunted, smiling slightly under his mask, before slowly starting to read the book, following the words with his finger.

 

* * *

 

Roadhog walks down the hall back to his room, a fluffy white towel around his waist, his mask firmly strapped in place covering his face. It was nice to be able to enjoy comforts of his youth- he hadn’t been able to regularly bathe since he was in his early twenties and his family was still alive.

“Oi, Hog! Whassat smell?”

Roadhog mumbled a response, glancing at his soot covered fellow junker.

“Lavender? Why?” Junkrat cocked his side to the head, visibly confused, pausing for Roadhog’s response, “You mean I have to do that again? Bathing once wasn’t enough?” Roadhog sighed before slinging Junkrat over his shoulder, the skinny blond flailing. If he knew Jamison wasn’t bathing at least semi-regularly he would have done this sooner.

“Oi! Lemme go! I happen to like having a healthy coating of dirt!”

“You can have a bath bomb.”

Junkrat paused in his struggle, “Bomb?”

…

Jamie cackled, flinging bubbles everywhere, water sloshing over the side of the tub. It had been a long process to force him to clean up, resulting in Mako having to sit Jamie down on a shower bench and scrub him down before finally being able to run a bath without risk of clogging the drain, throwing a bath bomb in alongside an entire bottle of bubble bath solution for good measure.

“Jamie.”

“Wot? I suffered through the whole process, can’t I have fun now?” He leaned on the side of the tub, squinting up at his friend who was sitting across from the tub on the shut toilet seat.

“You have to bath every day.”

Jamie dissolved into laughter, high-pitched wheezy shrieking breaking up strings of giggles, slapping the side of the tub with his left hand, “Hilarious, mate. Now really what’d ya have to say to me?”

“…”

“No way! That’s way too often! I never had to bathe before!” Jamison glared up at Mako, “Besides it’s a waste of water, roight? Especially since it don’t burn or nothing, it should be for drinking an’ cooking, not something stupid like bathing!” Mako reached out a hand towards Jamison, who swatted it away in defiance.

“Jamison.”

“Why?”

Mako pulled his mask off in order to better rub at his temples, a headache forming. All he had wanted to do was take a nice soak and then go back to his room. He had just gotten a new poetry book and he thought the other junker would still be in the workshop, leaving him to have some peace. “Life is different now. Now you have to bathe. There is plenty of water here.”

“…once a month then, roight? That’s gotta be good enough!”

“Once a week.”

Jamie flicked sudsy water at Mako, pouting, no longer wanting to soak in the once-hot, now lukewarm water. “Fine but you gotta be here with me. Now help me out, wanker.”

Mako rolled his eyes at Jamie and flipped the tab to drain the tub before hoisting Jamie onto the side of the tub by his armpits and ruffling his hair with a towel.

While Jamie had splashed around, Mako had been cleaning grime out of Jamie’s arm and leg, which he now fit into place.

…

His plans for a calm afternoon had been delayed for two hours but finally he got to return to his room, although the peace he looked forward would no longer be there. Not with a clean Junkrat in tow, chattering on about bombs and new blueprints and whatnot.

Mako glanced at his friend at his side who was sauntering along, holding the towel up at his waist with one hand while gesturing wildly with the other. He actually looked more his age with the near constant layer of grime missing instead of looking about ten years older.

 

* * *

 

 

Mercy wrapped a bandage over a fresh burn on Junkrat’s bicep then stuck an adhesive gauze pad to a scrape on his cheek, “You really should be more careful when demolishing things. Someday you may end up with even less limbs, or perhaps dead. There is a limit to how many times I’ll be able to save you.”

“Aw I know but it’s just so fun, ya know?”

Mercy smiled and continued with a basic physical- checking eyes and ears and whatnot, “And how much sleep are you getting? You certainly eat enough now, although your liquid intake could certainly use some work.”

Junkrat stuck out his lower lip in a mock pout and crossed his arms, “I drink plenty!”

“Milk tea with boba doesn’t count. You need water. It is safe here. You know that.”

The junker threw his arms up in the air, “Oi whatever. I forget. And I sleep well enough, even though sometimes Roadie hogs all the covers. Heh. Hogs.”

Mercy tried to disguise her curiosity as a casual question during his check-up, “Were you not given your own room? We have enough for you both to have your own.”

“What for? Roadie and me always share. If we’re in separate rooms then no one can keep watch, although he does keep saying we don’t need to anymore. Either way! I can’t defend myself much when I remove all me mech and Roadie don’t let me sleep with bombs anymore even though I say all the time they’re perfectly harmless. Plus it’s just nice, ya know? To always feel safe. He’s my best mate, roight?”

Giving her patient a thoughtful look, Mercy stood up and brushed her coat off, “It appears so. You seem in mostly fine shape, just try to be careful.”

Junkrat lurched off the cot and walked to the door in his odd loping gait, waving backwards cheerily over his head as he exited, “Ta!”

 

* * *

 

Angela sighed when she walked into the infirmary and saw who was waiting, “Jamison, I told you to stop blowing things up in enclosed spaces.” Then she glanced up at the miserable freckled mess on the cot. Covered in a faint sheen of sweat, his face was slightly flushed and when she placed a hand near him… Indeed, the junker the running a high fever. “How did you get a cold? It’s not even winter?”

Jamie sneezed then wiped his nose with the back of his hand before replying without the usual undertone of barely repressed laughter, “Dunno. Hog thinks I been hanging too much with Mei and he said me immune system is fucked or some shit but I never got sick before.”

“Open up,” she commanded, slipping a thermometer in his mouth, “and don’t talk until it beeps.” She took a seat next to him on the cot, rubbing small circles on his back, “Common effects of radiation, especially chronic exposure, results in a weakened immune system. Because you grew up practically your whole life around heavy radiation, you know it has had many effects on you.

“You may not have known you were sick before, perhaps chalking it all up to poor nutrition or the contaminated water you drank. The exposure to Mei’s cold weather abilities has obviously triggered a reaction that has led to cold like symptoms, assuming that you do not actually have a virus.

“Though I am glad you seem to be getting along better, perhaps you should wear a shirt every once in a while. You aren’t used to cold.”

“Oi I’ve been a roight gentleman since I met her!”

“Shush it hasn’t beeped yet.”

Jamie grumbled but quieted down until the thermometer beeped and Angela peered at it, “Ah yes, you have a fever. Go rest and drink plenty of water.” With a small smile she added, “It is perfectly safe. I promise.”

Jamie grumbled half-heartedly and slumped off towards the sleeping quarters.

…

A few hours later, Angela went to Jamison’s room to check up on him. She wouldn’t be a good doctor if she didn’t… and also she didn’t quite trust him to stay in bed and rest. Peeking into his room, she saw, predictably, no one. Stifling a groan, she turned towards Roadhog’s room, which was just around the corner, figuring that if anyone knew what the kid was up to, it would be him.

She knocked sharply once on the door and heard a soft grunt but no one came to answer, so she slowly opened the door and peered in.

Sitting on the massive bed, leaning against the headboard, was Roadhog, who lifted a finger to his mask to tell her to be quiet. Curled up next to the beast of a man was Jamison, all his various bombs and his trusty frag launcher on the floor, and even his mech arm and leg removed, although they were carefully set atop the desk next to a bottle of oil opposed to be scattered about the room. Jamison had his head resting on Roadhog’s thigh, sound asleep, twitching every so often and sleepily mumbling.

Angela nodded at Roadhog and set a bottle of cold medicine on the floor before slipping back out and shutting the door. Whatever their relationship was, and whether or not she had brought them together the day Jamie blew off his arm, she was happy for them. They both seemed to have found some sort of peace.


End file.
